Anthony DePaul Copyright  2005 by Anthony DePaul

Chapter Eight

The well-dressed man was at least four inches shorter and twenty pounds lighter but he easily yanked the rude younger man by the arm and out of the seat. The younger man landed in the lap of an elderly lady and spilled her drink all over her. The elderly woman shouted, “You idiot!”

The stranger waved an open handed invitation to Alice. “Sit, Bella Mio,” he said.

Amused and flattered and a bit awe struck, Alice accepted the offer. The younger man glowered beet red but decided to run rather than fight not only the well-dressed attacker but also the irate older woman who scolded him.

“Thank you. I thought chivalry was slain by the Feminists,” she said.

The man seemed vaguely familiar to Alice. The thin mustache, slicked-back hair and olive skin suggested that her hero of the moment was Latino. But no Latino she’d ever met had eyes like violets.

“In Europe, we still honor ladies and defend them from ruffians and brutes. I am Antonio. You are?”

“Alice.”

“I owe you a drink.”

Antonio Talarico put up a hand to stop her. “I can not allow that. Rest! I will get you a cocktail. What is your pleasure?”

Alice felt a dozen eyes watching her including the lady who whacked the rude man. “I’ll have a vodka martini up. No olives please.”

He bowed slightly. “As you wish.”

Alice settled her laptop on the table next to the chair. She dabbed lipstick and then ran a comb through her damp hair. She could use a quiet, harmless flirtation to distract her. Men were easy to find and easy to manipulate except for Dorian. Maybe that was part of her attraction to him. They’d clicked from the first time she met him on a case. He was already a legend for his computer skills, street savvy and toughness. He caught a local banker scamming his investors and nailed the crook to the tune of seven years behind bars. The grateful investors happily paid him a one million dollar recovery fee. Alice was slated to try the case but the defendant took a plea. Afterwards, she and Dorian shared a celebratory drink at Downey’s pub. The party ended with the best night of sex in her life.

“Here you are!” Antonio offered the martini from a manicured hand. His gold cufflinks sparkled in the dim light. They were cut with a “C” inside a gold circle.

“Thank you,” she said.

“Prego!”

She sipped the martini. “From your answer, I gather you are Italian.”

“Yes. I am a Neapolitan. Our city is an ancient blend of many cultures. Italians, Bourbons, Greeks, Moors. As you Americans say, a melting pot.”

Alice sensed that the man seemed very familiar, almost kindred.

“What brings you to Philadelphia?” she asked.

Antonio’s lips parted into a sigh. “I am a widower. I needed to get away from Napoli. Cancer took my lovely Elisa.”

“I am sorry. Do you have children?”

Antonio shook his head. “None. She was ill for a long time. God’s will!”

He clicked her glass. “Salud!”

Alice felt attracted to the luscious eyes and sensuous smile. “Yes, salud.”

Antonio knelt. He gently took her free hand. “I am a stranger in an alien land like the poet Ovid banished from Rome forever. Perhaps you could dine with me?”

Alice paused. “I hardly know you.”

Antonio’s expression brightened like a schoolboy asking her for a date “Then dine with me and I will tell you all about Antonio Novella, a lonely man in a crowded world.”

Charmed, she felt secure and eager to learn more about this refreshing, alluring man. “Okay. I will meet you later after I take a cab home and change. Let’s meet at eight here in the lobby.”

Antonio kissed the back of her hand. “Grazie, Bella Mio.”

“It’s a date,” she said. Alice finished her drink, collected her lap top and rose. She strode toward the front door feeling that in a rain storm you can always find shelter even if is from a stranger.

His cell rang. “Ciao,” said Il Segreto.

“Ciao. I just shared a drink here in the lobby with Alice Rowe. The fates dropped her into my hands.”

Il Segreto laughed. “A great omen! The time for us to claim our City is near. Stay in the hotel until I call you.”

“Of course,” said Talarico.

“Be careful that you do not alert Alice. She is a smart woman with a nose for the truth.”

Talarico could still smell her sweet perfume and the feel her hand against his lips.

“I will keep my distance.”

“Do so. We have much to gain.”

“Yes, mio capo!”

“Buona notte!”

Talarico whet his lips along the rim of his martini glass. “Perfetto!”

Refreshed, she toweled her firm body, slipped into a robe and convinced herself to complete her resuscitation with one more martini. She mixed the drink under the soft light of her den while Rod Stewart crooned, “It had to be you”.

Her phone rang. Caller ID read “Sophie.”

She let the call go to voicemail.

“Alice. Dorian was attacked. He’s in Jefferson Hospital.”

Alice snatched the phone. “Sophie! What happened?”

“Your man was found beaten and bloody in City Hall courtyard. My guess is that ML and he had an impromptu meeting. I’d like to do a briss with a dull knife on that ML!”

Alice gritted her teeth. “So would I.”

Alice dressed quickly. Just as she was about to leave, she called the Warwick and asked for Mister Novella.

“We have no party registered under that name?” said the front desk operator.

“Really? Well connect me with the Concierge.”

“Concierge! How may I help you?”

“My name is Rowe. I supposed to meet a Mister Novella at eight o’clock. I can not make the meeting and he is not registered so can you page him at eight and tell him that I have had an unavoidable delay.”

“Of course! Do you want to leave a telephone number?”

Alice paused. “Sure. I can be reached at 215-555-1315. Please ask him to call me tomorrow.”

“Certainly!”

She rushed away wondering why she gave her cell number to a complete stranger.
The IV in Dorian’s arm dripped antibiotics and painkiller but his head ached from ear to ear. The overhead fluorescent light flickered and burned too brightly for his eyes to focus so he shifted to one side. His right knee, propped up on a pillow, throbbed when he moved so he twisted to the left. He stretched for a Styrofoam cup of ice water but the cup slipped from his fingers and splashed all over his dressing gown.

“You never could hold your drink,” said Alice.

Her voice washed over him like a soothing wind. “Hello, Doll. How are you?” he said in a weak, barely audible voice.

He offered his hand which she held while she kissed his forehead.

Alice scooped a few cubes of ice into the cup. “I’m okay. I’ll get you fresh ice and water.”

Dorian would not release her hand. “Stay, please.”

“I’ll get you fresh ice and water. It’s right here.” She poured from a large cup.

The cold water salved his parched throat. “Nectar of the gods,” he said.

She patted his head and smoothed his hair. The room was stuffy and she sweated from her shoulders to her waist. “It’s not Johnny Walker Blue. Tell me what happened.”

Dorian tried to sit up but the pain in his knee pulled him down. “I met with Stern, Goodway and Grace Lord. I did what I had to do and it is best that I not tell you much more than that. After I left Grace’s office, I got ambushed by ML and his trained wolves attacked me.”

Alice squeezed his hand. “The bastard! Do you want to press charges?”

“Ease off Tigress. There are no witnesses and if we went public, they’d spin the story to say that I fell down drunk as observed by ML and his finest. They’ll cite me for walking under the influence. I will take care of ML in good time. How are you feeling?”

Alice pulled a chair beside the bed. “Well, I had a rumpus with Marian. I guess she will have ML’s boys push me in front of a police van.”

Dorian’s blood pressure monitor spiked. “Don’t joke about that! We are in a swamp without a lifeline. I am sorry I got you involved.”

Alice punched his arm lightly. “I am a big girl. I can take care of myself.”

Dorian ran her hand across his bandages. “Look what they did to me!”

Alice nodded. “Good point. Maybe we slowed them down.”

Dorian twisted his neck to face her. “How?”

Alice folded her arms as getting ready for a summation to a jury. “Killing a Mayor is risky enough with all the scrutiny and publicity attached to it. They may ease off knowing that two influential people could raise unmitigated hell and bring in the Feds as well. Lincoln may have a reprieve.”

Dorian shook his head from side to side. “They gave us a warning. If we interfere, we are dead. Lincoln Miles is a marked man period.”

“Well Estelle may beat the Camorra to the punch.”

While she told him about the call from Estelle and her confrontation with Marian, Dorian felt a queasiness growing from his gut to his brain.

“I don’t like it. Estelle has had problems with him before. Why has their marriage turned violent? What or who got them riled?”

Alice shrugged. “Beats me! Oh that is a Freudian boo boo.”

Dorian winced but smiled like he’d heard a bad joke. “Not funny.”

“Hello young lovers,” sang Sophie as she bustled into the room.

“Well if isn’t the other woman,” said Alice.

Sophie kissed Alice’s cheek. “Boobaloo, you are the other woman. I am the real love of his life. I work for him!”

Sophie stroked Dorian’s cheek. “What the hell did that monster do to my boy?”

Something in the way she called him “my boy” made Dorian think of Jerry Stern. “It was a mugging.”

Sophie and Alice exchanged glances. “Sure, Boss. Are you all right because I’ve got news that you need to hear.”

Alice frowned like a mother protecting a sick child. “He’s half-dead. Can’t the news wait until morning?”

Sophie’s mouth dropped as though Alice had kicked her in the shins.

“So you think I don’t care or I don’t see what they did to him! Hey, you may sleep with him but I make him money and he’s got to hear this. Here’s the scoop, Boss. Old Mrs. Hersh was an Emergency room nurse at Hahnemann Hospital when the ambulance brought in Jerry Stern after some hood shot him. She remembers Nate’s wife Edna who should have married Isadore Bitterman the surgeon but settled for Nate Stern. Anyway, Edna went meshugena when she saw her boy shot dead. Like a mad woman, she attacked Nate. She accused him of causing the boy’s death. Five minutes later, ML McLain arrives telling them that they got the shooter. He was a black boy with a record longer than Roosevelt Boulevard. The shooter had Jerry’s ATM card on him. Edna breaks down but, get this. She now attacks ML calling him a liar. She chases him out of the room with curses a cop wouldn’t use. The poor woman died of a broken heart a year later. What do you make of that?”

Dorian locked the story in his mind, let it roll around for a moment and asked her, “What was the name of the boy they say shot Jerry?”

Sophie shook her head. “I didn’t ask. He wasn’t Jewish. He was black.”

Dorian tried to rise but fell back. “Ask! It may be important. In fact, check the hospital records and the newspapers. Check the police report too. When did it happen?”

Sophie snapped her fingers. “That information I know. It was Christmas Eve, Nineteen Seventy Eight. Mrs. Hersh volunteered to work so the Christian nurses could get off. The woman is a Jewish Saint if there is such a thing.”

Alice rose. “I better leave. I have heard more than I should have on a closed case.”

Dorian grasped her wrist. “No. Please stay. I just got carried away. It’s a link I hadn’t expected.”

Sophie clapped her hands. “I am a buttinski. I’ll leave. You stay.”

“Both of you must go,” said the nurse. “Visiting hours are now over.”

Alice kissed him gently on the lips. “Sleep and get your strength back my Don Quixote. You can fight City Hall tomorrow.”

Sophie took Alice by the arm. “Listen to me. You two should be careful,” said Sophie. “Come Alice. I’ll buy you a drink. Maybe we’ll get lucky.”

Dorian waved a limp good bye. The nurse covered him and checked his pulse. He was oblivious to the nurse’s hands. He barely heard her words. Nate Stern sent him a warning. Maybe he should listen to it. Maybe Nate got a similar warning and his son Jerry paid the price.

The nurse swabbed his head and face with a warm washcloth. The pain in his head eased. He could not lie here any longer. “Call me a cab. I am checking out.”

“You are in no condition to leave.”

Dorian sat up. “I feel fine, Get my release papers ready and call me a cab.”

“It is too dangerous for you to go,”

Dorian stood, wobbled but held his balance. “It is too dangerous for me to stay. Please call me a cab now.”

“Ciao. This is Antonio Novella. I received your message. Did I offend or frighten you?”

Alice sounded far off. “No. My friend had an accident. I am just leaving the hospital.”

So perhaps someone had gotten to Wilde. “Is your friend well?”

“He’ll live. Nothing kills Dorian Wilde.”

Talarico’s whole body stiffened. “All of us are mortal. Tonight I was struck by the thunderbolt when I saw you.”

“That is very flattering.”

“May I see you again?”

After a momentary pause, Alice sighed. “Perhaps but not tonight. I am very tired and the sight of my friend sickened me. I am on my way home to a warm bath and a glass of port. I will call you in a few days. Where can I reach you?”

Gratified, Antonio blew a kiss to the empty air. “You can call me here under the same name. The staff here knows me now.”

“You are a true gentleman. Good night, Antonio.”

“Buona notte, mio caro,”

The message light blinked on Antonio’s cell phone. He called Il Segreto.

“Your phone was busy. Who were you talking to?” asked Il Segreto.

“My new friend, Alice Rowe.”

“You amaze me. Stay off the line. Stay at the hotel. All is set. Wait for my call.”

“As you wish.”

Antonio took a deep breath as though he wanted to soak in the whole of the City. He never felt as alive as when there was a killing in the air.